


Pleading For Shelter

by GalacticHalfling



Series: In Fair Resdaynia [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Alessian Doctrines, Chimer, First Council days, Gen, Refugees, ayleids, fantastical cultural differences, first era, headcanon but hopefully mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 19:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20551352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticHalfling/pseuds/GalacticHalfling
Summary: While in Resdayn under the leadership of Nerevar and Dumac mer triumphed over men in their neighboring country Cyrodiil the opposite was the case. The Ayleids - once rulers of an Empire - now had to fear for their lives and were fleeing their homeland to seek refuge from the relentless, mer-hating Order of Marukh. Canonical records tell us the fate of those Ayleids who fled to Valenwood, High Rock or the Summersets and those who attempted to flee to Blackmarsh, Elseweyre and even Skyrim. But no information can be found on Ayleids fleeing to Resdayn. Still with their shared border in the Valus mountains it is likely that some attemted to use that route.This story features a group of Ayleid OCs who come to Mournhold where they ask for asylum.





	Pleading For Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this story isn't beta'ed - but I decided to upload it anyway so it wouldn't just rot on my google drive (since knowing myself it will probably be ages before I get a beta-arrangement worked out for real). I apologize for all mistakes (feel free to point them out).  
Also, I tried to do all the topics mentioned in this story justice, but I know that fleeing from persecution is a sensitive subject, and I really hope I didn't trivialize anything.

Falamane Nyer did not feel relief when he and what little remained of his housefolk finally reached the looming walls of Mourning Hold. But he dared to hope. He had to – because if they had made it all the way from the Valus Mountains only to be turned away by the king of the Chimer he didn't think there would be any place left where they could go. Argonia refused to take any refugees, and Skyrim was as much a death sentence as staying in Cyrodiil would have been. Valenwood welcomed the Ayleids with open arms, or so it was said, but Valenwood was on the opposite border of Cyrodiil relative to Falamane's lands – they never would have made it there. As it was, Resdayn had been their only hope to begin with.

Squaring his shoulders Falamane tore his gaze away from the walls behind which lay their doom or salvation and addressed his people, ordering them to make camp while he and Nundiwe, his wife, would go into the city to seek audience with the Chimer king. He also called for the nursemaid to bring their children. Falamane did not like the thought of taking little Adagandra and Aurankynd to a place full of dangerous warriors under the authority of someone who had no obligation towards Falamane and his family. But the cruel truth was that there was _ no _ place where he could ensure his children's safety any longer – and Falamane was still the head of his household and had to try his best to secure asylum for his people. The king of the Chimer might not care for the suffering of grown mer who had fought their foes and lost – but if he had any heart at all the plight of innocent children could very well be what would sway his mind.

Falamane put on the best garments he had still left and which weren't too travel-worn. His wife and children did the same. They looked hardly as stately as would have been befitting the Prince of Fanacas. It was, yet again, a bitter reminder that Fanacas had been ablaze in the night when Falamane had last seen his ancestral home – there was nothing anymore for him of which to _ be _ a prince.

A steady stream of people was entering and leaving through 'Veloth's Doors' (as the south gate of Mourning Hold was apparently named) and while Falamane and his family earned some suspicious and curious looks no one hindered their entry into the city.

Inside they found themselves among a big crowd of people. Small loam houses were clustered close to the city walls, and the road led out onto a wide square that was occupied by a bazaar that almost equaled the great market on the Ancestors’ Isle in size. In Nundiwe's arms Aurankynd started to cry, and even Adagandra who was usually a bright and curious girl seemed a bit intimidated by the sheer mass of people.

Everywhere merchants were loudly advertising their wares – some from solidly built shops, others from market stalls or carts, but most of them had simply laid out their goods on rice mats or blankets, apparently not worried at all that someone might step on them in all the hustle. The range of wares was nearly limitless: Mushrooms (dried, fresh, pickled or even still living on pieces of half-rotten wood), eggs (most of them with strange, semi-soft shells), different sorts of flour, the meat of countless kinds of animals, fruit, vegetables, freshly prepared meals, parchment, papyrus, all imaginable kinds of alchemical ingredients, potions, amulets, cloths (most of them seemingly meant to adorn rather than to cover the body), or weapons and armor from the cheapest leather to elaborate ebony pieces. Legality didn't seem to be a problem – at least none of the stern, bonemold-clad guards who patrolled the bazaar seemed to be bothered by signs advertising the effectiveness of curses and poisons or the strength of some freshly imported moon sugar. A bit further to the north people were selling animals. Falamane could spot various breeds of guar, some of them padding around the customers and lazily chewing on some hay lying on the ground, while others with sharper claws and features were chained to poles. Netches were drifting above the cattle traders, and in kennels nix-hounds were hissing and screeching at onlookers. Between those animals there were various bug-like things for offer which Falamane did not recognize at all.

A few youths walked around among the crowd selling flowers or offering to sharpen daggers for a fee. Falamane wasn't certain whether this was an euphemism for other kinds of service, or not. But not everyone was trying to sell or buy goods. Drummers and jugglers were providing entertainment, and while Falamane made his way over the wide square with his family he once even saw a mer standing on a stack of wooden boxes loudly declaiming to the masses (although no one seemed to actually pay him any attention). The noise everywhere was enormous and Falamane couldn’t properly understand Chimeris anyway, but he got the impression that the mer was reciting poetry.

Almost all people on the bazaar were Chimer with a few groups of Dwemer in between. At some bigger marked stalls Argonians or Nords were packing and unpacking carts – but a closer look revealed that almost all of them wore slave bracers. Only once or twice Falamane spotted a Khajiit or a Bosmer amongst the crowd. All in all it became very evident that Mourning Hold despite being the biggest city in Resdayn was far from cosmopolitan.

For all the chaos, navigating the Bazaar was still surprisingly easy: leading around the main square and towards each of the gates spaces wide enough for two carriages to easily pass each other were left open as streets. This seemed to be an enforced law since more than once Falamane could see a guard ordering people away who stopped too long on one of those roads. All Gates leading into the city lead directly onto the Bazaar – it was a strange thought that even priests and nobles would have to pass through the market each time they wished to leave or enter the city.

Falamane and Nundiwe were too occupied by their severe worries to truly appreciate the fascinating and overwhelming impressions that the Great Bazaar usually made on any first time visitors of Mourning Hold. The foreignness that could have been exciting was nothing but unsettling with no familar place to return to. Falamane only took note of all the oddities around him in passing, focussing instead on somehow finding the right direction.

From the Great Bazaar's lay-out it was not apparent which of the other gates would lead to the nobles' district. Falamane chose to ask a guard for directions. His first attempt only yielded some disdainful grumbling about "n'wah" and "no business", but after giving a handful of gold to the guard she became slightly more accommodating and told him something that actually seemed to be an answer to his question. Falamane wasn't certain whether she was actually trying to speak Aldmeris or not - but the end result resembled Aldmeris at least in that it was slightly less interspersed with Daedric vocabulary than the Chimeri language usually was. Falamane thanked her for her troubles and continued on his way. Only when they were out of earshot he turned to Nundiwe and asked: "Did she say that the noble quarters lie to the west - or that we can only go there in the evening?"

"You asked for directions, so I would assume that it's the former," his wife replied with a sigh. Falamane guessed that he might have found the translations problems amusing if their situation hadn’t been so dire. But as it was the knowledge that he was surrounded by thousands of people yet might not be able to explain himself to any of them should a disagreement or an emergency arise – and that he would never be able to return to a place where others spoke the same language as him – made him feel desperate and helpless.

It didn't take the small Ayleid family long to reach the west gate. Aurankynd had exhausted himself with his crying and had fallen asleep, but Adagandra had gone back to her usual excitable and curious self half-way over the Bazaar; and only Nundiwe's firm grip on her hand was stopping her from vanishing into the crowd to pet guar or stick her hands into jars full of toad eyes and kwama cuttle.

The west gate was smaller than Veloth's Doors and unlike them it was closed. The guards in front of it wore richly adorned armor and though their faces were covered by their helmets they gave off an impression of grimmly watching the crowd.

"Why do you seek entry to Roses' Hill, strangers?"

To Falamane's relief these guards spoke recognizable Aldmeris. He drew himself up to his full height, wiped the dust from his silken robes with a flicker of magic and declared: "I am Falamane Nyer, Prince of Fanacas. I am here with my family to seek audience with your king. I have been led to believe that he resides within this district."

The guards exchanged glances; considering their helmets it was hard to imagine that they actually communicated this way, but they seemed to come to a decision all the same. "Very well," the left guard said. "You may enter. You will find Lord Nerevar either in the residency of clan Indoril or at the Council Hall." With that the guards stepped to the side and after a short hand signal towards the top of the wall the gate swung open with a metallic creak.

"Oh, but make sure that your concerns are important. I hear Lord Nerevar feeds outlanders who bother him needlessly to his durzogs," one guard called after the Ayleids as they walked through the gate.

Falamane hoped very much that this was only a cruel joke to unsettle 'the outlanders' as the Chimer kept calling them. But considering how much Chimer - especially their nobility - valued their ruthlessness he couldn't be entirely certain.

"What are durzogs?" Adagandra asked, and rather than being scared she sounded excited at finding out about some alien, mer-eating beasts. Falamane found some solace in the fact that at least one member of his family retained an eager and curious mindset amidst the misfortune of their exile. Yet at the same time he worried that in her childish ignorance Adagandra might get into harm’s way. "Something local and dangerous, or so I'd presume," he said sighing.

"That's not an answer," his daughter pouted. But fortunately she dropped the topic when they got their first proper look on the nobles' district.

Only few people apart from a couple of guards were out on the streets. Both the silence and the clear air were refreshing after the busy chaos of the Great Bazaar. The houses here weren't the small utility orientated huts from the Bazaar either. Instead the adobe had been used to build great domes, spiraling forms and high arches. In some houses the material had been mixed with pigments to give it a violet or greenish color; and decorative glazed tiles glinted in the hot sun light. The most prominent building was a great hall with spires and balconies in the middle of the district; it was also built on the highest point of Roses’ Hill, so that the great structure seemed to overlook the entire city. From its walls hung banners proudly showing the golden wings on white of House Indoril.

Falamane had seen far more impressive architecture many times – at least when measured by size and level of detail – Ayleids usually went for extravagant structures. But the architecture of Mourning Hold combined the natural way how Chimeri houses almost seemed to grow from the earth with a high level of sophisticated elegance in a way that was astounding all in its own. It also became evident why the district was called 'Roses' Hill': All streets were lined by flower beds in which roses of all imaginable colors were in full bloom. The most exotic ones had petals of a deep purple hue so dark they seemed almost black. Falamane recognized them as the famed Black Roses native to Resdayn; never before had he seen that many of those sought-after flowers in one place.

"I'd presume that this great building is the Council Hall. Shall we go there and ask the guards at the entry if we can find their lord in there?" Nundiwe suggested.

Mentally returning to the task at hand Falamane agreed, and the small family walked towards the towering structure in the middle of the district.

The guards at the entrance to the Council Hall were just as short with the visitors as those at the gates but with the right mix of politeness and stately manners Falamane managed to get the information from them that the king wasn't at the Council Hall at present, but at the Indoril compound which was situated close to the western wall of the Roses' Hill District.

The compounds of the different noble families weren't walled in, but were built on elevated terrain with steep edges so that climbing up to the gardens and houses without going over the stairs leading to their entrance would have been an acrobatic feat.

From each of the buildings hung banners showing the respective clan’s coat of arms as well as that of Great House Indoril. Falamane’s family passed roses, snakes and wolves in bright yet slightly sun bleached colors. The compound of clan Indoril, directly behind the Council Hall, was easily recognizable since the emblem on its banners was almost identical to the one of their House – the only difference was that the wings of _ clan _ Indoril were opened in flight while those of _ House _ Indoril were closed. In addition a third crest could be seen on the walls of the clan’s buildings – a crescent moon and a six-pointed star. Falamane knew his Oblivion lore well enough to recognize that this symbol was associated with Azura. But his inquiries into the matters of nobility in the land he now found himself in had revealed that it was also the family crest of Nerevar who was of clan Indoril only by marriage. Apparently his own standing or that of his birth family allowed him to keep his own symbols. Falamane wasn’t nearly aware of all the intricacies of the Chimeri Houses and their politics. Nobility was a law and a science all of its own – that at least seemed to be true for every civilized race and in every country. If only other things could have been just as universal.

Falamane sighed and walked towards the stairs leading up to the Indoril compound closely followed by Nundiwe and his children.

Stepping closer to the buildings, Falamane noticed a strange whispering in the air and an unnatural chill running down his back all of a sudden. It reminded him of dark and lost places haunted by restless spirits, and he instinctively clutched at the glowing, winged amulet hanging from his neck, a prayer to Merid-Nunda on his lips.

But which ghosts would roam in broad daylight within the nobles’ district of a city so great and well-off that surely they had mages skilled in taking care of things like that? Unless… Chimer were known to call upon the spirits of their deceased family members for advice and protection.

Falamane carefully made one more step closer to the buildings ignoring the goose bumps all over his skin. Suddenly he could see that his first impression, that the compound wasn’t walled in, had been incorrect. There _ was _ some sort of wall – translucent, iridescent, humming with subtle power – and clearly the source of the ghostlike whispers. Falamane stopped once more, staring with horror at the fence made of _ spirits_. He had known that Chimer did some questionable things with their dead… but _ this_, binding the energy of souls to Nirn just to power some sort of spell… it was absolutely depraved. Even if it was consensual like the Chimer claimed that all their necromancy was. Not, that they called it necromancy. How could they claim to venerate their ancestors yet torture them like that?!

But there was nothing he could do about it. Here he was in a country full of people who wholeheartedly believed in the rightness of such actions, people to whose goodwill he was trying to appeal. People in whose country he hoped to find shelter for his household and himself. For a brief moment he wished that he had tried to make his way to Valenwood after all. Bosmer at least only ate their dead. That was gross, but didn’t violate the laws of life and death. But no, Resdayn had been the only viable option for escape.

Praying that Merid-Nunda might forgive him for seeking such necromancers’ help Falamane squared his shoulders and continued towards the stairs. The steps were hewn into the stone structure on which the houses were built. To both sides of the stairs alcoves were set in the stone – and in each stood a skeletal warrior in richly adorned armor. They didn’t move but their sight made the Ayleids falter in their steps once more. “They’re dead!” Adagandra squeaked and hid behind her mother.

“Falamane,” Nundiwe said, her eyes not leaving the quite likely undead warriors, “I think we should leave. We could still ask the Dwemer for asylum instead. They might be blasphemers, but at least I’ve never heard about them dabbling in the Black Arts…”

Nundiwe’s suggestion had merit. But for all that the Chimer had vile practices concerning the dead Falamane still felt that they were more similar to his own kind than the Dwemer with their faithless logic, their automatons and their underground lives. And of course there were the stories… “Have you forgotten what happened to the Falmer?”

Nundiwe went slightly pale at the mention, yet her words were dismissive: “Surely those are tall tales.”

“Would you bet our lives and souls on that? Those of our liegemer? Of our children? When Chimer betray you, at least they use nothing worse than a dagger to the back!”

“That’s not a very optimistic mindset,” Nundiwe noted.

“I do have hope yet. We have heard nothing but good about king Nerevar,” with that Falamane continued onwards. The skeletons never moved, but Falamane couldn’t shake the feeling that they were following his family with their hollow eyes.

“Ata,” Adagandra asked, touching his hand to get his attention, “what happened to the Falmer?”

“Some say the Dwemer of Skyrim blinded and enslaved them,” Falamane told his daughter gravely.

“Why would they do that?”

“Why does the Order of Marukh burn the homes of mer? Why do the disciples of Molag Bal commit their cruelties? There are as many reasons for evil as there are people doing evil. We can do nothing but be steadfast in our faith and brave in our defense.”

“But then, why are we meeting with someone who keeps skeletons at his entrance? You always say that the Lady of Light wants all undead destroyed.”

Falamane sighed. How was he supposed to tell his seven year old daughter that he would rather neglect his ideals than see the last of his vassals and family die? “Because he can help us; and he won’t do that if we tell him that he’s evil, naturally. I cannot tell these people what is right and what is wrong. Here the land and the law aren’t mine to keep but king Nerevar’s. So you must not question the laws of his people, even if they are vile.”

Adagandra bit on her lips and nodded, though Falamane could see that she didn’t really understand.

Over the course of their conversation they had reached the top of the stairs and now stood on a courtyard between the buildings of the Indoril compound. Flowerbeds were planted with cactuses, roses and Timsa-Come-By. Benches stood in the shadow of thick-leaved trees. Falamane could not help but wonder just how deceptive this idyllic scene might really be.

At the entrances to the buildings guards stood watch. The design of their armor looked similar to that of the city guards, but not identical. One of them approached the Ayleid family. “What do you seek on our grounds, outlanders?”

Once more Falamane straightened, introducing himself and his family and stating his request.

The guard made a non-committal grunt, eying them through the eye slits of his helmet. “You’re in luck that our lord is even in attendance today. He is a busy mer,” he said loftily. “But very well. Follow me.” The guard steered them towards the main building. Through a double door with angular patterns Falamane and his family were lead into a lobby with a tile covered floor and potted plants in the corners. Two more guards were stationed in this area; these ones not wearing helmets. The one leading the Ayleids said something to his colleagues before leaving the building again. They were then approached by one of the other guards. He carried a brush and an inkwell with him. “If you would, seras, please extend your hands,” he said without preamble. “It’s a security measure.”

Eying the Chimer very carefully, and mentally preparing himself to cast a paralysis if the guard would do something untoward, Falamane followed the instruction. To his surprise the guard dipped the brush into the ink and started painting some intricate symbol on Falamane’s hands. It involved daedric characters and geometrical figures. Watching the procedure the Ayleid quickly realized what the purpose was: It was a rune to prevent him from casting magic. Falamane had to fight the urge to tear his hands away from the guard. He _ hated _ the thought of not being able to draw on his magicka. But the guard’s precaution made sense, and Falamane didn’t want to offend their hosts. With a spark of magic at his fingertips the guard tapped both runes and Falamane felt how his awareness of his own magicka reserves became fuzzy and distorted. It was a very disconcerting feeling, but to his relieve it didn’t seem as if the runes were _ draining _ his magicka. He also noted that – judging from the color and smell – the guard had used ordinary ink to draw the runes. Just dipping his hands in water would get rid of the magical restriction. Surely that was not an oversight, but an intentional feature. So this wasn’t a measure to stop him from casting magic, he surmised, but one to judge his intentions. How very typical of a people who worshipped Boethiah and Mephala, to do nothing as straightforward as taking a potential enemy’s weapons from them, but to instead downright _ dare _ them to try something, but at the same time make sure that they couldn’t attack without clearly indicating that they would do so. After all it was easy to remove the runes – but also obvious. It was a clever yet arrogant setup – since clearly clan Indoril seemed certain that _ if _ a visitor would turn out to be hostile they would be able to deal with them without first forcing a weakening factor on their potential enemy, apart from removing the element of surprise.

While Falamane was considering the implications of this strange security measure, the guard had marked Nundiwe’s and Adagandra’s hands as well. “I don’t like that feeling,” the girl complained as the Chimer activated the runes on her hands.

“You can clean your hands when we leave, but not before. It’s only polite towards our hosts,” Falamane told her.

If the guard was annoyed or amused by their exchange he didn’t show it. “Wait here. I will ask if Serjo Nerevar is willing to receive you.” With that he vanished into a corridor at the back of the room.

Falamane followed him with his eyes, praying that the Chimer king would see them. They were so close now. Anxiety was rising in him. He had taken part in many diplomatic meetings over the course of his life and was not afraid of speaking in front of foreign dignitaries. But never before had so much depended on it. He fought the urge to start pacing – he was very aware of the gaze of the remaining guard still on him and didn’t want to lose face. In his mind he once again went through the things he was going to say.

“It will work out alright, love,” Nundiwe whispered, taking his hand and squeezing it lightly. “We have come this far and survived; our luck won’t run out now.”

Falamane smiled at her, thankful for her encouragement, even though he doubted that she was as certain as she sounded.

Time passed slowly while they waited. A few people entered and left the lobby. Like most Chimer who weren’t clad in armor they all wore scandalously little clothing, so Falamane had a hard time guessing at their social rank. But what they _ did _ wear seemed to be of simple make and some carried crates and baskets so most of them were probably servants. They cast curious glances at the Ayleids but didn’t stop in their activities.

At last the guard returned. “Lord Nerevar will receive you,” he stated simply. “Follow me.”

Falamane cast one last hasty look at himself and his family to check if they appeared presentable before doing as the guard had asked.

They were led through a small corridor and up a flight of stairs that led to another hallway on the second floor. Finally the guard stopped in front of a door that didn’t look much different from the other ones they had passed. He fixed the Ayleids with a stern gaze. “The Hortator awaits you in his study. Remember: He is the greatest warrior alive. He has led armies to many a victory and won more than 70 duels before the age of 100. So treat him with the according respect. It’s in your best interest.”

Falamane nodded noting that this was the second time in less than an hour that he got warned about the Chimer king. But he had also heard quite often that Nerevar was a just ruler with great skill for diplomacy and a true interest in the good of the people, so there was really no telling what the mer was like in reality. “Adagandra, be polite when we talk to Lord Nerevar. Speak only when spoken to, don’t grab anything and don’t make faces,” Falamane told his daughter. She had the biggest, most innocent turquoise eyes that would move any being if it had a heart at all – but she could also act like a little scamp. He dearly hoped she would not show the latter during this meeting.

Steeling himself Falamane knocked at the door.

“Come in,” came the call from the other side almost immediately. With more certainty in his posture than he felt Falamane entered, followed closely by his wife and daughter.

The room was not what Falamane would have expected of a place where a king would receive guests or supplicants. It was – just as the guard had said – a study. The most regal decorations in the room were the wings and the moon and star sigil on one of the tapestries. Another wall was covered by a big map of Resdayn which was dotted with pins and connecting threads. In one corner of the study stood a chair made of a brass-like metal, a bookshelf filled with stacks of papyrus and scrolls stood opposite the wall with the map. The floor was covered with straw mats and a couple of elegant cushions. At the side stood two low tables one covered with writing materials, the other with a tea set. Two mismatched swords, both of designs that Falamane did not recognize, leaned against the bookshelf.

In the middle of the room stood the mer on whom all of Falamane’s hopes rested. He was tall and rather broad shouldered for a mer. His skin, while not as dark as the bronze tones of Ayleids, was still a surprisingly deep shade of gold. He didn’t wear any of the wild, savage-looking tattoos that were so common among his people, and no piercings apart from one small golden ring in his left ear. But the tall Mohawk-style in which he kept his pale hair gave him a martial appearance anyway. He was just as scantily dressed as most of his countrymer, only wearing bonemold pauldrons and an elaborate loincloth. On one hand he wore a ring that looked surprisingly delicate compared to the rest of his attire.

He viewed the visitors with a focused but otherwise unreadable gaze.

Falamane and Nundiwe, who had stepped next to her husband with a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, bowed respectfully, Adagandra swiftly following her parents’ example.

Lord Nerevar nodded at them. “Greetings. So, you are Falamane and Nundiwe of Fanacas? I was told that you wanted to speak to me.” Apart from a rather strong accent his Aldmeris was flawless.

Falamane wasn’t certain if that was a question, but nodded anyway.

“Go on, then. Speak,” with the shortness of the prompt Falamane would have expected a hint of impatience or anger, but the Chimer’s tone was interested, polite even.

“Lord Nerevar. The praise of your and King Dumac's great deeds in your war against the Nords has travelled far and has given hope to many mer in this age where otherwise it seems as if fate has abandoned our kind in favor of the short-lived, savage races. I appeal to you, a leader who stood up to the tyranny of men and who achieved peace between two warring races of mer, to help me and my kin. Fanacas – my family's stronghold of old – is no more. The hordes of Marukh's Order came to us in overwhelming numbers and set our houses and fields ablaze, slaughtering anyone they could find. Less than 30 of my people escaped and we fled over the border into Resdayn. I ask – no I plead with you: Grant us shelter in your realm.” Here Falamane hesitated for a second. He needed to walk a fine line by showing deference without seeming weak. But his situation was desperate. _ He _ was desperate. And there was little sense in trying to pretend otherwise. With a deep breath he went down on his knees, Nundiwe and Adagandra beside him following his lead. “Please, if not for my sake so for that of our children, and of those in my household who never learnt the art of war and had no chance to fight for themselves. We would repay such kindness with knowledge and skill, and with loyalty.” He thought of the almost sacred secrets of shapeshifting and other forms of greater Alteration magic that had been passed down and furthered by countless generations of Ayleids. He would give them away in a heartbeat if it meant that his children would have a future. He had no influence or money left to pay. It was all that he could give. He prayed it was enough. He had said everything that could help their cause.

The Hortator’s face had remained attentive but unreadable the entire time. For a few moments he contemplated his visitors in silence. Finally he replied: “I grieve for your loss. And your plight moves me, do not believe otherwise. But I speak for Resdayn and her people, and I am their protector before anything else. A great victory we won against the Nords, but the Alessians are numerous and well organized and I will not chance a war with them. Dumac and I treated with their emperor and he made clear that they would go to war should we hide any fugitives from their lands within our borders.”

Falamane’s heart sank. All the stories he had heard about Nerevar had let him appear like some undefeatable person who feared no enemy. Of course those were just stories, but still Falamane had not believed that the influence of the cursed Slave-Queen’s successors would reach so far into a country of free and proud mer. He should have known better. Desperately he tried to come up with some argument, tried to find _ something _ that might yet sway the Chimer king.

But Nerevar hadn’t finished speaking: “Of course, the borders in the Veloth Mountains are long and wild, so we rarely know who crosses them. And likewise, due to the great parts of wilderness and the politically splintered nature of our homeland, we wouldn’t know where to start looking for a group of barely 30 people, as long as they don’t intrude on the lands of any clan. If emperor Goreius would ask us to search we would do so. But he cannot expect us to have our eyes _ everywhere_.” He gave the Ayleids in front of him a meaningful look.

“Thank you,” Falamane said, and he meant it despite the helpless anger that welled up inside him at the same time. Hiding, unrecognized, in the wilderness. Was that their future? It wasn't fair! But he understood the Lord Nerevar's reasoning - like him he thought of his people's wellbeing first.

“Don’t thank me,” the Chimer lord replied curtly. “And stand up. I have given you nothing and you owe me nothing.”

Falamane followed the latter order, as did Nundiwe and Adagandra. “Still, we have to thank you, for hearing us out at least,” he insisted.

Lord Nerevar inclined his head.

Falamane waited for a moment if the other mer would say something else, when he didn’t, he asked: “May we take our leave?”

“Yes … And may the … gods that you worship guide you.”

The Ayleid family bowed and Falamane and Nundiwe turned to leave. Adagandra trailed behind and Falamane took her hand to steer her out of the room as well. At the door she stopped once more turning back to the Chimer lord with a curious gaze.

“Come!” Falamane hissed, tugging at her arm. But she wouldn’t budge. Eyes still on the Hortator she blurted out: “Do you really have mer-eating beasts that you feed with annoying visitors?”

Mortified Falamane didn’t know how to react. Thankfully Lord Nerevar seemed to be amused by the question rather than angered. “My mother’s clan trains durzogs for war. But if anyone gets eaten by them it’s not on my order but due to their own stupidity.”

For the shortest of moments Adagandra seemed actually frightened by the casual confirmation that the beasts indeed ate people. But then her enthusiasm returned. “May I see them?”

The Chimer raised his eyebrows. “I doubt your parents would be pleased.”

Adagandra looked sheepish. “Adagandra, come! Don’t be a bother!” Nundiwe scolded. “We apologize for our daughter’s behavior,” she added towards the Chimer lord.

He just waved a hand. “That’s what all children are like, or so I’ve been told.”

Falamane dragged Adagandra out of the room, glad that the ruler of Resdayn had not taken offence at her behavior. And just like that their meeting was over. They left the Indoril estate, throwing one last shuddering glance at the spiritual fence and the skeletons. As soon as they were out on the street again they cleaned the magicka blocking runes from their hands.

On the way back to their camp Falamane and Nundiwe walked in silence. Aurankynd was still fast asleep in Nundiwe’s arms. Adagandra was at first sulking because she could not see the durzogs, but soon she started wondering aloud if it was possible to learn how to shapeshift into such ferocious beasts. “They are local animals, right? If we could learn to turn into local animals we could better hide ourselves – that’s what that lord was talking about with his whole ‘we don’t look to closely’ spiel, wasn’t he?”

Falamane was a bit surprised that Adagandra had understood that part of their discussion with the Chimer king. She hadn’t looked that interested while they were talking.

“Ata, please, will you tell Master Tymere that he shall teach me shapeshifting? I’ll work very hard on it, promise! I’ll become the best there’s ever been. And… and maybe I’ll be the first to learn how to turn into a dragon! Then I could spew fire and eat all the Alessians and we could go home and needn’t hide anymore!” She was gesturing wildly and seemed very excited by her own idea.

Falamane shook his head, sadly wondering when the day would come that Adagandra would realize that there would never be a hope of going home again. But he just said: “You have barely learned the most basic spells of Alteration. You won’t be ready for the art of shapeshifting for at least 100 years yet.”

“But that’s forever!”

Falamane smiled at her antics. Maybe she truly would become the greatest shapeshifter one day. He would make sure she had the chance to try. He would make sure she and Aurankynd had a future. This day he hadn’t got what he had hoped for. They had no liege and no land. They had no official recognition. But they hadn’t been outright turned down either. They would make do. Somehow. They would find some place to stay. They would survive – no, Falamane thought with determination, they would _ live_.

**Author's Note:**

> Main character is the 'Prince of Fanacas' because I researched Ayleid ruins and that is one very close to the Morrowind border - so fleeing there would seem likely - as it is actually situated WITHIN the Valus mountains.  
A mention that some Ayleids could shapeshift can be found in the book ‘Daughter of the Niben’.  
Black roses that are native to Morrowind are mentioned in ‘The Real Barenziah’.  
The White-Gold-Tower was known as the ‘Temple of the Ancestors’ among the Ayleids. So when Falamane refers to the ‘Ancestors’ Ilse’ he means the island on which the Imperial City was built.  
The idea that Nerevar’s family had durzogs was inspired by a picture by RisingMonster on deviantart, which shows Nerevar with a durzog.  
The mention about the number of duels that Nerevar has won is a very slight reference to Musashi who is said to have won ca 60 duels in his youth. Since Nerevar is known as the saint of warriors, and Musashi allegedly as the ‘sword saint of Japan’ (according to the all-knowing wikipedia) I thought it to be fitting.  
The description of Mournhold is inspired by the ruins of Old Mournhold - Since Mournhold was destroyed at the end of the 1st era neither the city seen in ESO nor in TESIII are the same as the one that stood in the 1st era. And even the few mentions in ‘2920’ describe the city as it was more than 2000 years after the events in this fic, so I took some (read: a lot) liberties in the description of the city. The part about the mini ghost fence was inspired by 'Ancestors and the Dunmer'.  
Adagandra means ‘gift of a god’ in Ayleidoon - so basically it is the Ayleid version of Joanne, Aurankynd means ‘welcome child’ (I can’t remember which website I consulted for that, so I'm not sure if all parts of that translation are canonical or not).


End file.
